Married Life
by Kittenshift17
Summary: *ONE SHOT* Life with Thorfinn Rowle would never be dull.


**A/N: **** Just a little drabble I threw together after a request on Tumblr for The 150 Drabble Prompts challenge. This was for Prompt 51.**

**Hope you like it!**

**xx-Kitten.**

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**Married Life**

_By Kittenshift17_

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"What on Earth...?" Hermione Granger muttered under her breath when she returned home from work to find the house in utter chaos.

Children - none of them her own - were racing about the house on foot, shouting and laughing, all of them brandishing what looked like fake wands from Weasley Wizard Wheezer's. The family cat appeared to have taken up residence atop the highest bookshelf in the lounge room - and seemed to have shredded the curtains in his attempts to reach such a lofty perch. Noise seemed to be issuing from every corner of the house - none of it more so than from the kitchen.

Setting down her bag and clutching her wand in her enclosed fist, Hermione hurried toward the source of the racket. Her eyes widened and her shoulders slumped when, inside, her eyes landed on what could only be the source of the chaos.

"Thorfinn Rowle, what in the bloody hell is the meaning of this!?" Hermione demanded, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the hulking Viking of a wizard where he stood with his back to her, instructing the children in how best to... she didn't even know what he was trying to teach them. All she knew was that it apparently involved inordinate amounts of flour, excessive noise, and what looked like a collection of every sweet or sugary substance in her pantry.

The blond ex-Death Eater spun toward her, his blue eyes widening comically before he tucked a large mixing bowl behind his back so that she wouldn't be able to see it. As though that might save him.

"Princess. You're home," he said, looking rather more panicked than welcoming.

"What have you done?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms across her chest as all four of her children and a good number of their friends scampered out of the room like chickens from a fox-invaded hen-house.

"What do you mean, what've I done?" Thorfinn asked. "I haven't done anything. Well, other than invite a few of the kids' friends over for a slumber party."

"You realise that you have flour on your cheek and what looks suspiciously like maple syrup dribbling through your beard, don't you?" Hermione asked, not the least bit won over by his innocent little smile as though he weren't the cause of such chaos.

"Arainna did that," he blamed Hermione's youngest daughter immediately, reaching for a piece of paper towel from the kitchen bench and smearing it over his face to remove the evidence as though she might un-see it.

"Did you also raid my pantry for every sugary treat we own?" Hermione wanted to know.

"That was Vidar," Thorfinn insisted.

"You're blaming my angelic son for this mess?" Hermione asked, scowling.

"He led us all astray, Princess. It was only a matter of time, really. All things considered."

"And why, pray tell, is that?" she demanded.

"Well... takes after his father, doesn't he?" Thorfinn smirked, tracing his eyes over her from head to toe in such a manner that she might as well have been naked..

"How unfortunate," she said meanly.

"Bit rude, love," Thorfinn mumbled, still eyeing her like he hadn't already ravished her within an inch of her life every other day since they'd gotten together; like he hadn't already sired all four of her children. Indeed, he was looking at her like he very much wanted to begin trying for number five.

"You let the children run an absolute muck throughout my entire house, you fed them copious amounts of sugar, and you have the nerve to look at me like that?" Hermione demanded, though she couldn't truly say she was angry with him when he pushed away from the counter, wiping floury hands on his jeans as he slowly began to stalk toward her.

"I'm your husband, Princess. It's my job."

"To make a horrendous mess?" she scoffed. "Certainly good at it, aren't you?"

"Mmmm," he grinned. "I'd say I deserve a substantial bonus for my efforts, actually. Good for morale, you know?"

"Mmmhmm," Hermione hummed sarcastically even as he closed the distance between the two of them and scooped his hands under her arse, lifting her until she could wrap her legs around him.

"Well?" he asked, raising one eyebrow when they were eye to eye. "Pay up, Princess."

"And reward such bad behaviour?" Hermione asked. "I suppose I'll be the one trying to wrangle twenty children into eating a healthy dinner and all getting bathed before bed?"

"You know, twenty's a nice even number," he smirked.

"So is four," Hermione reminded him.

"I'm not really a fan of even numbers," he said, wrinkling his nose a little. "I've always preferred things at are... odd. Married you, after all."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with that comment, but before she could get the words out, he claimed her lips for a hot kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth without hesitation or fear of rejection and Hermione rather loathed the way, even after all this time, she immediately melted into the kiss, tangling her fingers in his wild mane of blond hair and kissing him back hungrily.

When the broke apart to the sound of children shouting and something crashing over in the living room, Hermione narrowed her eyes on her husband.

"We're not trying for number five," she warned him. "Four is plenty. It's not happening."

He lowered her back to the ground, clearly intent on investigating the source of the disturbance that had finally quieted all of the children in the house - suggesting something important had just been broken.

"Mmmmm," he hummed noncommittally, looking her up and down one more time like he wanted to rip her clothes off her that very second. "We'll see, Princess. We'll just see if that's still the tune your singing when these devils are all in bed."

Hermione shook her head as she watched him stride out of the room, making a mental not to ingest her contraceptive potion as soon as humanly possible.


End file.
